From The Other Side

2. slip-n'-slide

TWO
slip-n'-slide

Wednesday, February 17th

Wednesday afternoon, the air was muggy and the ground was soft from the previous night's rain. While rolling the tarp off the field, Isaiah slipped a few times and Marcus teased him each time he made a fool of himself.

Sometime after everyone started to get bored, Ashton whipped off his shirt and used the tarp as a slip-n'-slide. He went coasting across it like a deranged penguin, whooping and hollering as he flew by. Coach wasn't around, which gave room to several others doing the same.

Marcus's hands landed on Isaiah's shoulders and shook them roughly. "Whip it off, Speed Racer. Go zoom."

Isaiah rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders to try and shake off his grip. "I'm good, thanks."

"Come on," Marcus pushed. "Have fun for once."

Isaiah didn't respond and instinctively looked toward the bleachers, eyes searching for his Coach. He didn't find him, but he did spot the boy from last time. Had he always been there? He was hunched over, elbow resting against a folder that was placed on his lap. His good leg tapped rhythmically against the metal underneath him. He looked bored, but he kept watching the team act like idiots.

"Question," Isaiah blurted out. Marcus dropped his hands and Isaiah nodded toward the stands. "Who is that guy?"

Marcus glanced in the direction of the blond guy and shrugged. "I think he's named after a month or something. He's been coming to the practices and games almost every single day since he transferred to our school. Coach loves that kid for some reason."

Isaiah nodded slowly, eyes lingering. He kept pushing his hair back, but there was no use. The wavy curls would just fall back against his forehead. He eventually pulled it back into a half-assed ponytail. Isaiah wondered what it was like to have long hair, because it looked like a nuisance.

"Isaiah," Marcus groaned. He gently shoved at his back, causing Isaiah to stumble and slip across the tarp. He yelped in surprise and ended up on his ass, a stinging sensation traveling up his backside. He winced and didn't even bother trying to get back up.

Isaiah turned to glare at his friend, who was struggling not to laugh. He flipped him off with a pained grimace, placing his hands behind him to brace himself. "Marcus, you're a sick son of a bitch. I slipped and slid, you happy?"

"So happy," Marcus wheezed, hunched over with his hands on his knees. Isaiah scoffed and carefully stood up again, walking slowly and carefully away toward the dugout. He tentatively sat down on the bench, a muffled curse leaving him at the feeling. He hadn't been hurt that bad, had he?

He sat there for a little bit, watching everyone else get chewed out by Coach. His face was red and veiny with anger, and he was pointing dramatically, probably cursing like a madman. Isaiah was sure that, even from where he sat, he could see spit flying from his mouth. Gross.

Once the tarp was taken off the field, Isaiah stood up again. The movement stung, but he forced himself back out to the field. He slid next to Marcus just as the Coach advised them on what to do next, which was running.

Fuck. That's gonna be painful.

Everyone immediately darted off, and Isaiah forced himself to do the same. With every pump of his legs, an aching feeling pulsed through him. He was wincing with every step, and Steve took notice once he lapped him.